


Familiar Yet Unfamiliar

by ernyx



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, Ash Tyler centric, Ash Tyler is a good person, Ash needs to be loved, Enterprise references, F/M, Gen, Kind of mystery?, Michael Burnham is confused, Michael/Ash very much present but not central, There's been a lot of research done for this fic :P, Tholian Web references, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ernyx/pseuds/ernyx
Summary: “So, what’s Plan B, Starfleet?”“That was Plan B. I’m on Plan C now.” He slides the rest of the way down until he’s fully on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something?”“Of course.”“How long was I asleep?”There’s a hesitation before she speaks, as though she’s having a hard time recalling. “Two days, possibly?”“Do you think I’m still asleep?”“Are your dreams usually this weird?”
Relationships: Michael Burnham & Ash Tyler | Voq, Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Familiar Yet Unfamiliar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strangeallure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/gifts).



> Written for StrangeAllure for Fandom Trumps Hate, who gave me full flexibility with anything Ashburn <3

Ash Tyler isn’t sure how he got here. The design of the ship is strangely familiar, but there’s still an oddness about it that makes him feel like he’s on a foreign planet. Wherever he’s ended up, it’s not Starfleet territory. He keeps his phaser up, extended out, and ducks into the next room.

It’s empty.

His pulse remains elevated, and he takes a deep breath as quietly as he can. If he’s out here on his own, he needs to keep a level head in case of trouble.

He hopes he’s not alone.

It’s not the first case of transporter beams mixing things up when beaming from the same pad. Sometimes overlapping frequencies do strange things, and this is why transporter rooms always have a cadet on standby to communicate with people and bring them where they need to go.

But Ash has appeared in one that was empty, in a ship that seemed to be drifting through space unguided. There shouldn’t have been any frequencies projected at all, and his communicator isn’t transmitting back to the Discovery either. Even if they are looking for him, he’ll have no way to tell them where he is.

_ Probably not even valuable enough to look for _ , he thinks miserably, clearing another room on his own. This, at least, he’s good at. He can keep himself safe. He can deal with danger. He’s made a life of protecting himself and the people around him.

_ But not if I’m stuck here and they’re elsewhere, _ his traitorous brain chimes in.  _ I need to get back to them. The Discovery is the most valuable weapon in Starfleet’s arsenal, and if it doesn’t have someone strong to protect it, we’re all doomed.  _

The next room is empty too – at least, it is devoid of people. Though they’re all powered down, the room is chock full of scientific equipment, strange objects that seem to whir and hum even without a source of electricity, and most worryingly, a hollow crystal containing a blob that looks strangely mobile. When he leans down to take a closer look, mostly out of morbid curiosity, the blob slaps one amoeba-like extension wetly against the inside of the shimmering crystal container.

It’s never a wise idea to interfere with science experiments, especially of unfamiliar origins. Tyler knows this well, and takes a step back. He can deal with whatever  _ that thing _ is later on. Right now, he needs to figure out if there’s a way off this ship.

Every room looks as abandoned as the one before it. He still clears each one carefully with the seriousness of a soldier, phaser never faltering, but it’s no use. There’s simply no one on board. The ship itself is weird too. There are no insignias to be found anywhere, and there are clearly slight differences in the way the ship is made and laid out compared to the starships he’s familiar with. It’s not an older designation like a Yorktown or Shepard class… or one of the Andorian models, or even an Arkonian design. It doesn’t have enough hard edges on it to feel like it could be Klingon or Romulan, and definitely isn’t small enough to be a raider. That leaves – well, he has no idea at all.

He sighs, heading back to the bridge in hopes of finding a way of powering up the ship’s core systems. If he can send a signal out, maybe there’s a chance of rescue. If not… well, if the ship has enough auxiliary power to work the replicator, he won’t object. It’s been ten hours since his last meal, and he’s  _ hungry _ . 

The chair beeps at him when he attempts talking to it, but he gets no further with it. A quick look at the buttons show that there’s nothing written in Federation Standard, and the symbols are nothing he’s studied before. 

“ _ Wish you were a xenolinguistics major now, huh Tyler?” _ He hears the voice of a long-forgotten friend in his mind. “ _ Bet you won’t pass the one class you’re required to take on it. How are you gonna get yourself a cute Andorian girlfriend, hmm? Or are they too blue for your tastes?” _ At the time, he’d protested that he wasn’t biased, just terrible at learning languages that had sounds he wasn’t raised with. Now, he really does wish he paid more attention. After idly pressing around on buttons that looked more important in hopes of activating anything at all, he sighs heavily.

“Well, maybe better luck in engineering,” he mutters, then snorts. “Ah yes, talking to myself. First sign of insanity, isn’t that what people used to say?”

He has to go back through the weird science lab to get down to where the engines are, and he could swear the blob is looking at him, maybe judging him a little.

“Hey, if you’re so smart,  _ you _ restart this ship,” he retorts, feeling dumb for thinking that something that has no visible eyes has been sizing him up and finding him lacking somehow. He starts almost violently when the lights blink on. “Shit, that’s not… you, is it?” He leans down towards it again, brow furrowed. “Please tell me this is a weird coincidence, and I’m just hallucinating and talking to a blob.”

“And precisely  _ who _ are you calling a blob?” The voice resonates clearly from the crystal, and Ash nearly falls backwards. He  _ knows _ that voice.  _ How…  _ **_why…_ ** _? _

“Burnham?” His voice comes out as a whisper.

“The one and only,” she responds, sounding distinctly cheerful. “Why do you look so shocked?”

“Wait, you can see me? Where are you?”

“I’m right in front of you, of course I can see you. I can also sense that your heart rate is elevated, your pupils are dilated to 7.2 millimeters – which is impressive considering how bright this room is, by the way – and you are currently very hungry. Would you like to get dinner?” The crystal hovers, bobbing closer. “I hear that the replicator can now create a spicy plomeek soup which I am curious about. It is no longer morning, but I may forego Vulcan traditions for a taste of home.”

Ash continues to stare at the crystal, and the blob inside it. It’s unmistakably Michael’s voice, her tone, her  _ memories _ even, given how she talks, but it’s coming from this  _ object _ . He can’t even fathom what could be making this happen.

“I apologize, I seem to have made you uncomfortable,” her voice comes again. “I was under the impression that… never mind. Please, go ahead and find some food for yourself. I have a couple of projects that could use my attention anyway.”

He doesn’t want to leave, but that was as clear a dismissal as anything, and for some reason, he doesn’t want to offend the crystal, even if it’s only wearing Michael’s voice rather than actually  _ being _ her. “Sorry, you just caught me off guard. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, or even where I am.”

“We are currently halfway between Cestus III and Genton IX, on the edge of Federation space. Without the help of central engine power to keep us on course, we have drifted into the unclaimed territory between the Gorn and Kzinti hegemonies. You’ve been asleep for some time, but I assumed you’d check the coordinates at the bridge first, since you were headed in that direction before. Otherwise, I would have informed you right away.”

“Right,” Ash sighs heavily. “We’re in uncharted territory and the ship is deserted, and you’re a  _ cube. _ I’ve lost my mind. Tell me I’ve lost my mind?”

“You haven’t lost your mind,” Michael replies softly. “You were lucky to escape elimination. I managed to preserve myself this way – in a  _ crystal _ , not a cube, for the record – until I was able to regain my physical form.”

“ **_Elimination?_ ** ”

While the normal Michael may have nodded, the crystal didn’t even budge, giving the impression of a dead-eyed stare. “There’s little else I can call it. People started to… dissolve.” Then suddenly, sympathy laces her voice. “Don’t look like that. There’s nothing you could have done to stop it. There was no one to fight.”

Ash looks devastated. His voice small, he can’t help but ask, “Then why am I still here?”

“I cannot answer that. All I do know is that I did not have the ability to speak from the crystal until you passed by. Your being here fundamentally  _ changes _ things, but what things I do not know.”

He stares at the ground. All the people that he thought he would protect are now gone. And the Discovery, is it gone too? Which ship has he ended up on? The questions are a jumble in his head, making it pound painfully. The hunger and dehydration probably isn’t helping.

“For the record,” Michael’s voice interrupts his thoughts, “I am grateful that you survived. If it had to be anyone on the crew… I’m glad it’s you.” His eyes snap up, and he wishes he could see her eyes, to read the emotion behind it. He wishes he could hold her, convince himself of whether this was real or all a strange dream. Instead, he’s trapped in a limbo that continues to bear more uncertainties by the minute. “Anyway,” she continues, “I may not actually be able to eat the plomeek soup in this form, but you should still get some sustenance in you. Your energy is flagging, and given how long you’ve been asleep, I can only assume that you’re starving.”

He offers her ( _ it? _ ) a half smile and nods. “Alright, lead the way.”

They circle back to the cafeteria, nestled near the engines. Normally, there should be a lively hum here, both from the machinery and the people who inhabit the ship, but right now there’s nothing at all. The emergency lighting is on, and Michael seems to have the ability to control a small amount of power to certain appliances, one at a time, but otherwise there’s simply silence.

The replicator provides a meal that looks edible but not human in origin. The crystal bobs, the blob inside curling up tightly. It’s unclear if it’s being shy or defensive, though the motion makes him think of a shrug. He waves off the potential apology, and digs into the salad made of unfamiliar leaves. It’s coarser than he’d like, but tastes good. Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking. He makes his way through the rest of the food: ground meat of unknown origin, a starchy soup that tastes like potatoes but sweeter, and some strangely chewy legumes. It may not be what he wants right now, but survival is more important than preferred cuisine any day of the week. Once he’s polished off his plate, he drops it into the basin for cleaning before remembering that the sonic rinse function must also be offline. The replicator did provide him with a glass of water, so he’ll scrub it himself if he needs to. In the meantime, he needs to figure out what he can do to reorient himself.

_ I don’t even know what my goal is right now, _ he worries.  _ Should I be trying to get off this ship? Should I get it running so I can hail Starfleet or send out a distress call? I’m not even in Federation space, would doing that bring down a non-Federation army on me? And what about the crew? Is there any way to un-dissolve them? Are they dead? What about Michael? _

And then, the thought that leaves him cold:  _ Should I even trust that the crystal  _ **_is_ ** _ Michael? _

His breathing goes shallow and rapid for a moment, and he has to fight for control. He’s been through torture, he’s been through near-death experiences on strange ships and stranger worlds. He can do this. He just needs to figure out how to get  _ back _ to Federation space and then… 

That’s it!

He dashes down to the hangar, in hopes that it might hold a light craft that can get him back over the border. If he can make it that far, he’ll be able to send out a distress call and get people who actually know what they’re doing to come help him figure out what happened. All he needs is… a shuttle… that is not there.

**Fuck.**

All at once, the adrenaline wears off. He slumps against the wall, drained. The crystal nudges him gently, the blob weaving in strange, agitated patterns within.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I… I don’t know.”

“I do not blame you for being overwhelmed. I had to retreat to my Vulcan training in order to deal with the incident myself. I thought… until you walked by, I thought I was doomed to be a consciousness sitting on a shelf for the rest of my existence. It was not a pleasant belief.”

He nods. “I can only imagine. I’m sorry.”

“How do you always do this?” Her voice is laughing, though it sounds more bewildered than happy. “I come to you to offer comfort, and you turn it around and empathize with me. Every step of the way, you’ve supported me and made me feel better. I can’t win with you.”

Ash smiles. “You are easy to care for.”

“That,” she huffs, “is statistically untrue.”

“And yet…”

“And yet. So, what’s Plan B, Starfleet?”

“That  _ was _ Plan B. I’m on Plan C now.” He slides the rest of the way down until he’s fully on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How long was I asleep?”

There’s a hesitation before she speaks, as though she’s having a hard time recalling. “Two days, possibly?”

“Do you think I’m still asleep?”

“Are your dreams usually this weird?”

“Well, no… but there’s a first time for everything. I can’t even tell what  _ kind _ of starship we’re on.”

Michael’s voice scoffs at him. “Well, you should have asked then. It’s Tholian.”

There’s a very long pause while Ash processes the information, and then sighs, letting his head thump back against the metal grating on the floor. Well  _ shit _ . He knew absolutely nothing about Tholians or their technology. “Care to elaborate?”

“I probably know as much as you do. I’ve never been briefed on them. The only reason I even know it is that the leader of the group said they were from the Tholian Assembly. Our entire crew got beamed over here under duress by the assembly members… with the exception of Lieutenant Commander Stamets, who may have been attached to the mycelial network at the time. Once we got here, we found ourselves suddenly able to phase through the walls of the ship in an alarming way.” The crystal drifted back and forth across the hangar, as if pacing. “I say alarming because we could have tripped and found ourselves in outer space and immediately died. The Tholians experienced similar symptoms, and within minutes, everyone began to disappear. It’s sheer dumb luck that I managed to grab this crystal. It’s originally meant to store memories as direct data, but something must have gone wrong in the circumstances and now I’m stuck like this.”

“Did they have any weapons that they were using on people to make them disappear?”

“Couldn’t have been. They were disappearing too.”

Perhaps it’s the lull in conversation, the overwhelming number of thoughts, or sheer exhaustion, but while Ash is trying to figure out what to do, his eyes slowly close. Within moments, he’s asleep. (He doesn’t dream.) The crystal watches over him, never wanting to stray too far, carefully adjusting the temperature of the ship so he doesn’t shiver.

It’s a few long hours before he shows signs of waking, and at the first flutter of his eyes, the crystal zips away to the opposite side of the hangar. Ash rubs at his eyes and murmurs an apology for dozing off, completely unaware of how long it’s been. Time seems to pass strangely here, both all at once and not at all, but he doesn’t have a watch to help him keep track.

He rises to his feet. “Alright, the first step is seeing if I can find out why I didn’t disappear. Maybe that will help me figure out how to get the rest of you back. The second is to see if there are any power systems that I can bring online to gently push this craft back into Federation space.”

The crystal hovers over by the shuttle bay’s windows, seemingly distracted by the empty blackness of space. It gave no indication that it had heard Ash’s words, the blob quiescent, fixated.

“Hey, you comin’? I might need a hand.”

The blob starts, smacking against the crystal again as it jerks upwards, and then zooms over. “Sorry, yes, I’m here. Where to?”

“Med bay. Let’s get me checked over and see where to go from there.”

They make their way down the winding corridor, past the huge holo-deck, and into the sterile medical facility.  _ The advantage of being in space _ , he thinks idly as he strips off his jacket and positions himself in the biobed to get his readings taken,  _ is that there’s no dust. This place could have been abandoned for decades and nobody would know. _

The sensors whir, and the attached screen creates a continuous output of data being measured. His readings are strange, with both his heart rate and oxygen levels being dangerously low. Weirdly, it also says he had an  _ enlarged _ heart, and that his body is rife with scar tissue that he can’t feel. He wonders if it’s faulty or simply not calibrated for human subjects.  _ Maybe this won’t be helpful after all. _ Suddenly, the screen readjusts automatically, and his readings come back to normal again.

“Tyler, are you seeing this?” Michael’s voice is strained, and the crystal has moved away slightly. Even the blob within it seems like it’s backed into a corner.

“Yeah, readings are normal, it fixed itself. Why do you sound so worried?”

“Look at the category… please.”

The forced politeness throws him, and he frowns at the screen, scanning it again. In the bottom corner, he sees what Michael must have spotted, and stares in horror. The scans are  _ not _ normal for a human. They’re normal for a  _ Klingon _ . He has no idea what this means, or how it could be true. He pulls himself out of the biobed hastily, shrugging his jacket on with forced calm.

“It’s probably broken. Stupid machine. Let’s go back to the lab. Maybe that will have some proper answers.”

He’s wrong. There are no answers here. He circles through the ship again, and the two of them explore every option they can think of. More and more, Ash becomes disheartened with the lack of progress, and as hours slip into days, he wonders if he’ll end up dying here. He wonders if Michael is even capable of death in this state.

He wonders if she’ll mourn him.

It’s nearly a week later that they get into their first tiff. Michael stubbornly refuses to try out any of the alien tech in the engineering workroom, saying it’s too dangerous, and that any of the items there could be a weapon that could instantly incinerate Ash or worse. He, on the other hand, is at his wit’s end about what to try, and can’t stand still any longer.

He strides off without waiting for a reply, and only notices two rooms away that the crystal hasn’t followed him.  _ It’s fine _ , he thinks aggressively.  _ This is probably not real anyway, and that’s not Michael, and I’ll just wake up soon. In the meantime, I’m going to explore by myself. _

He finds himself back in the lab, squinting as he peers through the darkness. When the crystal was here, the place glittered with light. Now, it’s like staring into the abyss. His hand accidentally brushes against something sharp, and he hisses in pain. What little light filters in through the doorway shows a streak of red on his hand, and he grunts in annoyance, grabbing the hem of his jacket tightly to stem the bleeding.

The sharp object he touched, though, has begun to glow.

“Oh, you’re in one piece,” a voice filters through it, distorted and distant and  _ unmistakably  _ Lorca. “That’s good. Now get us out of here.”

“Ash, you’re alive! Oh, thank goodness,” comes the vibrant and slightly garbled voice of Tilly.

A dozen other voices chime in, either expressing relief or annoyance in turn, and it’s a little like being on the end of a long-distance conference call with terrible reception. He can’t make out half the words, but it’s an unmistakable presence. The crew of the Discovery is  _ not _ lost. He still has his job to do. He has to make sure his people are safe.

Suddenly, the voices turn to static. Behind him, there’s a menacing hissing sound, and the crystal that holds Michael’s voice floats in. The doors snap closed behind it, and the voice sounds…  _ distressed _ .

“What have you done?”

For the first time since encountering the crystal, Ash is genuinely afraid. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Your  **hand** . You’ve hurt yourself.”

“Oh.” Relief floods him. She’s not angry that he’s heard the other crew members, she’s just concerned about him. “It’s no big deal, it’s just a scratch.”

“It is still bleeding. Come with me. I know where the first aid kit is.”

The static gets louder, and Ash feels a little like she’s trying to lure him away from here for some reason. Something is bothering her, and it’s  _ not _ his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s almost stopped. Don’t worry about it.”

The normal Michael would probably roll her eyes at him and let him deal with the consequences of his own actions. This version of her, though, growls lowly. “You’re not allowed to get hurt. Don’t do that again.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” His response is automatic and slightly petulant.

“I don’t care. You’re  _ mine _ , you’re not allowed to get hurt.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Instantly, his phaser is up, trained on the crystal (even while he suppresses a wince at the pain in his hand). “That’s  _ not _ something Michael Burnham would say.  **Who are you?** ”

The static continues to grow louder and louder, almost deafening. He wants to cover his ears and cry out, but he refuses to let the standoff end like this. He needs to know what this creature is and what it’s done to his crew. The crystal vibrates under the intensity of the noise, and then, almost as if defeated at being found out, simply shatters.

Ash watches in horror as shards of the crystal fly through the air, embedding themselves in every surface in the room  _ except _ him. It was serious about making sure he wasn’t injured, apparently. The blob stretches out, coiling around his hand, squeezing almost experimentally. It’s not painful, and when it moves away, the cut is healed.

“𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕨?” The voice says, no longer recognizable. “𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦. 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕒𝕗𝕖. 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕞.”

He shakes his head. “That isn’t what I want.”

“𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣?”

“If that means saving my friends, then yes.”

“𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕗 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 '𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕤' 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕖.”

“Then more of them would not than I would expect.” He offers the blob a frosty smile. “Tell me what you did to them. My shipmates, my crew, my captain, tell me how to get them back.”

“𝕨𝕙𝕪 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦?”

“For the same reason that you haven’t hurt me so far, I suppose. I still haven’t figured out why  _ that _ is, but… keeping me here without them is painful for me too. You knew this, didn’t you? That’s why you chose her voice to keep me company.”

“𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕜. 𝕨𝕙𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕?”

It’s a blow to his ego, but given that this creature, whatever it is, can power an entire ship on whim, it’s probably not wrong about him being weak in comparison. “You are strong. Why would  _ you _ not allow me to live as I choose and protect me anyway if you were so inclined?”

“𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕. 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦.”

There is a surge of sympathy that he cannot suppress. He’s been stuck in a brig for seven months. He can only imagine what it must be like to be tied to this starship, floating on the edge of known space for who knows how long. He sits down slowly.

“Can I ask… why me?”

“𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕.” The voice is so soft, it is barely audible. Ash goes to interrupt, but it continues, “𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕠𝕗. 𝕚𝕗 𝕀 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡.”

It’s hard to hear it from someone else, but he knows it is true. He nods. “If you give back my ship and my crew, I’ll still try to find a way to get you out, you know.”

There’s a moment where the blob considers this, and then slumps into a pool on the table. “𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣…  **_𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟_ ** ,” it hisses the word like it’s a curse, “𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦. 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕠, 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒  **𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕** 𝕞𝕒𝕟. 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕.”

Ash looks unfathomably sad. “I… I don’t know your name.”

The blob rounds out in a way that makes him think that it’s smiling, just a little. “𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 ℍ𝕠𝕤𝕙𝕚.”

He nods. It seems stupid to go through pleasantries when they’ve spent weeks together and it’s not like the blob has a hand to extend. In fact, he highly doubts that a blob is how this person started. They have too intimate a knowledge of humans to not have been in close contact with them, and nothing like this blob has been recorded in past ship archives, as far as he knows. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then reopens them. “Alright. Tell me what to do to get them back.”

The blob stretches like putty, then slams straight into his forehead. His vision swims at the intensity of the impact, and he’s falling backward, backward,  _ backward. _

He comes to in the med bay, with Dr. Culber hovering over him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Specialist Tyler. We’re glad you made it.”

Ash shakes his head to clear it, then blinks at the ferocity of the resulting headache. His eyes clench shut.

“Yeeeees, still recovering from a concussion. Give the hypo a moment to work, you’ll be fine.” Hugh smiles slightly at him. “Your readings are bizarre, by the way. No human should be able to survive whatever is going on in your body, but you seem fine. I’d like to do a full scan on you later, but I have another patient to check on and  _ someone _ has been coming around every half hour to see how you’re doing, so  **please** go put them out of their misery once your head stops feeling like it’s being trampled by elephants.”

Tyler stares after him with a puzzled expression, but shrugs as cool relief spreads from his temple to the base of his spine. He has no idea who would check in on him so frequently (or even just more than once, if he’s being realistic), and slides his jacket back on slowly while he contemplates it. He sneaks a look at the readings on the biobed and shudders when he notes that they match the ones from the other ship. That’s a mystery to solve… later. For now, he needs to check that everyone is back to normal and then get some proper sleep.

He makes his way through the ship, noting familiar faces and nodding hello to them. Tilly greets him excitedly in the hallway, rambling about how she heard his voice and knew that he would find a way to get them back, and her chatter follows him all the way to engineering where they’re interrupted by Stamets exiting the cultivation bay. The resulting hug is strong enough to pop Ash’s back, and surprises him enough that he has to suppress a squeak in response.  _ It’s nice _ , he thinks,  _ to be wanted. I’m not used to this. _

He makes his way up to the bridge from there, and his entry causes a few heads to turn. Some congratulations and thanks are passed around, and Ash smiles wanly, shaking hands. Lorca scoffs at the display, but smiles nonetheless.

The only one who doesn’t join in on the celebration is Michael, who stares at him with an unreadable expression that culminates in a complicated smile. It’s just about time for a shift change anyway, so Lorca dismisses her when Tyler is ready to leave, and they fall into step together.

“How are you doing?” he asks, immediately feeling a little dumb. He already knows that she isn’t comfortable with small talk, and it’s going to make the turbo lift ride even more awkward. Still, he  _ is _ curious. She hasn’t said a word to him since they made it out of… whatever they’d gotten into. He’s still not sure if it really was the Tholians, another universe, or a dream. He’d have convinced himself that he made the whole thing up if it wasn’t for the reception he’d gotten.

Her lips twitch downwards, then immediately right themselves. “I do not know how I am,” she says, after just long enough that he’d begun to believe she wouldn’t answer at all. “I cannot understand my own emotions right now. I am relieved that you are here, but I am also feeling things that are not logical.”

He huffs in amusement. “We’ve had this conversation. Emotions don’t have to be logical.”

“I understand that,” Michael replies immediately, “but they have to come from somewhere. These… the emotions in me do not seem to stem from me. I cannot explain it any other way.”

Ash frowns, peering down at her face. “Tell me what’s going on. My rooms, maybe?”

She follows him to his quarters and sits gingerly on the couch. “I’ll come out and just ask you. Does the name  _ Hoshi Sato _ mean anything to you?”

_ Hoshi? The only one I know is that… blob… or whatever it was…  _

“I’m not entirely sure,” he replies. “I know of a Hoshi but I don’t have a surname to go with it.”

“Would they have reason to feel  _ longing _ for you?”

His frown deepens. “You mean you’re experiencing its…  _ her _ emotions?”

“I cannot say. It would be a lie to say that I do not also harbor longing for you, but this feels different. I don’t know why I have pieces of her memories, or whether she is even a part of this reality. All I know is that she, if she even  _ exists _ , wants what is good for you, but perhaps in a different way than I do.”

He nods, at a loss for what to say. The blob  _ had _ been good to him, as much as it could be while still deceiving him. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to infer that it…  _ she _ wanted him to be well.

Michael looks away for a moment, staring intensely at the wall, and then returns her gaze to Ash just as suddenly. “She… she says you love me.”

His hands come up to very, very gently cup her face. “You must have known that by now.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I thought you could do better.”

“I don’t want to do better. I want  _ you _ .”

A smile stretches across her face slowly. “I want you too.”

They stare at each other for a while, drifting closer until their foreheads rest together. Somewhere in her mind, the fragmented memory of Hoshi holds the tender feeling close. Somewhere in his chest, a Klingon heart beats. But these are mysteries for another day.

For now, they have each other, and a stolen moment of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback, comments, and kudos are always loved.


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